American Horror Story - Season 1-75 - Short - Grand Tate Auto
by leaftheweed
Summary: Tate discovers the freedom and joys of playing Grand Theft Auto. What better way to get out of the house? Set in 2019, after the events in my Murder House AU Season. You don't need to know the history to enjoy this short. Rated T for foolin' around and descriptions of GTA5 inappropriateness. [Patrick x Tate] and [Violet x Tate].


**2019 (summer)**

Tate sat cross-legged on the floor, bathed in the cool glow from the laptop sitting on the ottoman in his room. New technology didn't come naturally to Tate but, with Violet's help, he'd learned how to use Steam and through it, he'd discovered _Grand Theft Auto V_.

He knew the title wouldn't be Approved of so he'd planned to keep the game a secret, but he gave himself away the first week laughing at the over-the-top play. A high-speed cop chase up a mountain had resulted in his flipping the stolen truck he was driving in the game. The vehicle went over the side of the cliff and was airborne for so long, it seemed like it was moving in slow motion, only it wasn't. The truck hit the beach and the little man rolled out, all floppy.

The dude looked so silly, rolling across the sand with the comic word WASTED stamped across him. That was funny enough, but then one of the doors came off the truck and hit the guy, causing the 'dead' man to bounce like a rubber ball. That made Tate howl with laughter. He was on the verge of tears, he was laughing so hard, when Pat poked his head into the room.

It was too late to turn off the laptop. The dead dude on the beach, the blood, the wrecked vehicle: It was all there in glorious full color.

The jock hadn't approved at first, of course. The game was unabashedly violent and inappropriate, but once Pat saw one of the in-game art films, he was intrigued. He tried his hand at playing. He wasn't a gamer, though, and didn't find the controls intuitive. It was easier and more entertaining to watch Tate man the controller.

The way the teen played didn't advance the plot very fast but both ghosts found the driving simulation liberating. Sure, Tate stole most of the vehicles he drove—but once he had one, he just drove it. For miles. The game world was big enough that he could spend hours traveling through all kinds of terrain, with all types of vehicles. Cars, trucks, earth movers, boats, jet skis, motorcycles... virtually any type of vehicle was his to command.

Some might find it boring to watch someone else motor around, obeying traffic laws, but it was a taste of freedom to Patrick. More than he got on a daily basis any other way. The game world even resembled Los Angeles, making the illusion all the more believable. Once, Tate found a way up to the game's version of the HOLLYWOOD sign. Watching the simulated nighttime traffic in a dark room was quite an experience. It was almost like being there, with the recorded sounds of crickets and the wind and distant traffic.

It almost felt real.

...

 **A random night...**

Tonight's virtual foray had Tate piloting an unmarked white van through downtown Los Santos. The plan had been to try and catch another one of the game's art films, but he had gotten the timing wrong and wound up driving around aimlessly for nearly an hour.

Then he accidentally ran over a pedestrian, right in front of a cop. Tate swore. The chase was on.

"You're not very good at this game," Pat observed from where he was stretched out, reclining behind Tate.

"Says the back seat driver," Tate grunted through gritted teeth.

Traffic was thick on the virtual streets as he led the police on a high speed chase, and he was still trying not to hit other cars. Things really ramped up when he hit the freeway. He buried the speedometer and barreled down the center of the wide road. He thought he might lose the cops at the next exit when Pat's hand settled over his crotch. The white van nearly collided with a motorcyclist.

"You're gonna make me mess up!" he said as he tried to correct his steering.

"Oh?" Patrick's hand slid down the front of his jeans. "You're that bad?"

"Fuck!" Tate swore as his van glanced off the concrete median. He wasn't truly mad, though; the hand was doing things that felt good.

"You're going the wrong way," advised Pat. His hand continued to move at a steady, unhurried pace under the loose layers of clothes.

"Uhh," the teen replied smartly, squirming. Then: "Shit!" He gave a short, breathy laugh. "I just hit a cement truck."

The screen went red and the cartoon font declared him WASTED. He dropped the controller and soon they were pounding it out doggie-style, there on the floor. It was a rough quickie that left them both sweaty and breathless.

After they'd recovered from the rigorous exercise, Patrick moved to the bed while Tate stayed on the rug to play some more. A dreamless sort of sleep stole over the bigger guy. It was the kind of sleep that offered no rest or refreshment, interrupted when the bed moved and Tate flopped down next to him.

"You done?" Pat grunted, cracking an eye open.

Tate scooted closer and insinuated himself against his side. "They wouldn't let me into the strip club."

The teen's offended sulk made the athlete smile. "There's no age limit, is there?"

"No. I tried to go into the VIP area and this guy wouldn't let me in. Before I knew it, he was hitting me. So I hit him back. Then three guys were hitting me and then somebody called the cops and I had to run."

Pat blinked and stared, brows steepling. "God, Tate." A soft, bewildered laugh escaped him and he dropped an arm over the young man's shoulders. "Only you."

"They shouldn't make it so hard to see boobs in that game!" Tate defended.

"If you want to see breasts, there are plenty of real ones in the house."

Behind the canopy of messy blond hair, the teen rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna be like 'Hey, Violet, show me your tits.'. And hers are the only ones worth seeing."

Pat snorted. "You never know. She might like it if you said that. Or you could try not saying it like an ass." He brushed the wild bangs back in order to make eye contact but Tate's mop of hair stubbornly flopped back into place. "You really shouldn't play that game."

Tate made a face. "It's just a game."

"You laugh every time someone dies," Patrick pointed out. "That's not a good thing."

"It's _funny_! They made it to be! You even laughed that time I accidentally jumped out of the car while I was doing 80 on the freeway, instead of hitting the brakes."

Tate had him there. The whole event was such a surprise: Seeing the virtual driver eject from the high speed chase only to fatally bounce off cars and barricades like a pinball, thanks to the game's questionable physics. "If Chad says you can't—"

"I'll worry about it when he finds out," said Tate, not wanting to think about Chad's Approval at the moment. He could tell Pat was going to say something else he didn't want to hear, so he did the only thing that was sure to shut him up: He kissed him.

Patrick knew what Tate was trying to do, but he allowed it anyway and deepened the kiss. The situation with the game would resolve itself soon enough.

..

 _What is love?_

As he lay there in the bed, one arm draped over Tate's back, Pat stewed on that question. He was beginning to accept the fact that the love he craved so badly didn't exist.

His relationship with Chad, while amazing at first, had soured after they'd arrived at the mansion. Patrick had become fixated on finding that love, in his last months of life; desperate. He had blamed their deteriorating marriage for the desperation that drove him to the nightclubs and for the dark directions his desires took. It was more likely the house itself that was responsible for the way things went, but knowing that didn't make it feel better.

He'd been so lonely for that comfortable feeling of being wanted and needed. He thrived on casual affection, something that had vanished from their relationship almost as soon as they had moved in. Things were so alien between him and Chad in those last weeks. His partner hadn't needed him. Chad hadn't wanted him, in any sense, emotional or physical. Patrick needed to be needed and Chad had been determined to pull away.

It had been easy to convince himself that he'd found love with Rob. Pat had been starving for affection and the younger man had been a source of energetic adoration. The power bottom had opened up new sexual horizons for the jock. Through him, Patrick had discovered what it was like to take sexual control for once, and Rob had loved him for it.

Love.

It wasn't really love. He knew it even then. Topping the college boy, playing at romance with him, had felt better than what Pat had at the time with Chad but... it wasn't love. Realistically, the frenetic relationship wouldn't have survived longer than a couple of passion-fueled months, but he had been looking forward to those months.

Before that, the club scene had offered even less by way of love. The male eye candy was delicious. Hot sex was easy and plentiful. But a real connection? He couldn't remember a single person he'd met while grinding on those dark, sweaty dance floors who he'd made a true connection with. Glitter and smoke, lasers and late night booty calls, sexting... It was all just a distraction from the shit-hole that was his life in Murder House.

He looked down at the rat's nest of blond hair resting on his chest. It was hard to define how he felt about the ghost. It certainly wasn't love. It was too corrupt, too hurtful, too much a product of being trapped. Understanding the house and Tate better had done a lot to cool Pat's anger over the years, but causing the teen pain—whether to punish or for his own pleasure's sake—never bothered the man's conscience. Though they'd found a strange truce, there were still times Tate made him so mad, he could kill him all over again. Actually kill him.

They definitely shared none of the romance the man had desired in life. Tate's idea of being romantic began and ended with giving love notes and eccentric trinkets to Violet, which was fine by Pat. The thought of romance with the younger man was about as appealing as the idea of romance with a younger brother. An odd incongruity of feelings, he knew, considering he had no issue with fucking him. It was another subject he tried to avoid thinking about at length. Just like the future.

When Pat dared to think about what lay ahead, he saw an unending horizon of nothing.

No choices.

No chances.

No life.

He no longer fit into the natural order. He had no role in the world and couldn't make one for himself. It would be easy to lose himself in the void that was death; so simple to forget who he was, in the unending march of same days ahead. He'd seen spirits in the house fade away like that. For Nora Montgomery, it seemed a constant struggle.

And if he forgot himself, what then?

He was little more than a collection of memories attached to kinetic energy, the way he saw it. Without his vices and memories and experiences, whatever was left of Patrick stopped being Patrick. Which called into question everything he knew about the universe. What did it all mean? What was the cosmos, anyway? No one really knew.

He'd seen other ghosts do things no human could do. Reality seemed to be a silent consensus the mundane living had arrived at, that was optional for the dead—and even some mortals he had encountered. Patrick feared what was beyond the mortal coil and whatever fueled these paranormal things. He didn't understand it and had no interest in losing himself to whatever greater truth was out there. As inconvenient as being trapped in Murder House was, as isolating as it could be, it wasn't the worst thing that could happen. It would be far worse to just... cease to be.

Whatever he had with this ghost boy that the house had killed him with, it wasn't love. A convenient fix for the ravenous sexual appetite death had afflicted him with, sure. But it was only during rare quiet times, like this, that he could allow himself to pretend just a little. It wasn't any more real than watching the teen drive along the coast in _Grand Theft Auto_. When he woke, Tate would be the same tragic, annoying, pain-in-the-ass threat to the living that he always was. But for a few fragile seconds, Pat could imagine how life might have been, in a brighter world.

...

 **Another random night...**

"Where's your car?" Violet asked.

"Huh?" Tate responded, barely glancing away from the screen. "Right here. I'm driving it."

"That's not your car," she objected. "Yours is red sports car, with the lights underneath."

Tate was piloting something that looked like an Escalade, big and black. "I don't like to drive it."

Violet frowned. She was laying beside him on her belly with a hand-drawn map of the game world on the floor in front of her. For fun, and to stop Tate checking the map every five seconds, she'd grabbed some of Chad's craft paper and appointed herself cartographer. She liked keeping track of Tate's location with the motorcycle piece taken from the Monopoly set in her closet.

"Why don't you like to drive it? You spent all that money on it, customizing it."

Tate glanced over again, just briefly, then motored around the corner onscreen. "Exactly. It looks just like I want it to. If I drive it, I'll wreck it."

Violet stared at him. "You spent all that money making it look nice and you won't even drive it?"

"I don't want to mess it up!" Tate defended. In the game, he clipped another car in his distraction. "See? That's why! If I drive my nice car, it'll get broken. Even if I drive good, one of these other assholes will fuck it up." He paused the game and looked at her poignantly then. "This is exactly why I don't want rich stuff. Why I wear flannel and old sneakers. Nice things don't stay nice, no matter how much they cost. Spending more money on something to make it special just means it'll cost more to replace it when it gets trashed."

Tate's passion was evident in his broody expression. Violet processed for a moment before sitting up. She put a hand on his cheek and drew his face closer to hers. She just looked at him sincerely, real close, and said: "You don't need to spend money at all." Then she kissed him.

It wasn't fair, kissing him like that when he probably would have had something to say. Unfair or not, he didn't contest the move. Kissing back was more fun. When they parted, he dimpled a smile.

"I need money in the game if I'm gonna pay for hookers."

She playfully elbowed him. "Hookers? Seriously?"

"I didn't put them in the game!" he grinned.

"You better not be paying for hookers," she said, only mock-threatening. She tickled his side and was satisfied when he curled to protect himself.

"I'll be thinking of you the whole time," he grinned bigger.

That did it. "You jerk!" She pounced him then, and he laughed. He didn't even put up a fight when she wrestled him to his back and sat on him. She set to tickling in earnest and was rewarded when he snorted and turtled into his t-shirt. It was fair revenge for the last tickle bout, which she'd lost. It was fun having a boyfriend who was as ticklish as she was.

When she felt he'd had enough, she relented and let him unscrunch himself. She swept her long brown hair to the side and over a shoulder so it wouldn't dangle in his face. When she looked down she expected to see him smiling but he looked thoughtful.

"You really are beautiful," he said, like one reflecting on a striking sunset or piece of art. He gazed at her for a moment then lit up with an idea. "Here," he said, bucking his hips just enough to jostle her. "Let me up. I wanna show you something."

Unsure what he was up to, Violet slid off to sit beside him. He picked up the USB controller again and started to drive with a purpose. She was curious about what he was thinking but knew he liked to surprise her so she just moved the little motorcycle along the map till they got where they were going.

It took a while to get there. By the time Tate parked the stolen SUV, the in-game sun was going down. He hopped his little man out of the truck and started walking him down the road.

"Where are we going?" Violet couldn't resist asking any longer. She didn't often see Tate walk in the game.

"Just wait," he said and leaned to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

He maneuvered between the dark houses and soon was moving down a rocky escarpment. At the bottom of that the rocks gave way to a wide, deserted beach. The setting sun made red light play on the tops of waves rolling in from the vast ocean beyond. The sky was fading from brilliant reds to purple and the first stars could be seen in the haze of light pollution from the simulated city.

"Wow," Violet breathed, genuinely amazed. "It's so..."

"It looks really real, doesn't it?" Tate murmured. "Look."

He walked a bit further down the beach and then turned. Below on a long pier was a boardwalk carnival. At the far end of the pier, a huge Ferris wheel was just beginning to light the sky. Tate grinned at Violet. "Come on," he said, like they were actually walking.

It was full night when they got to the Ferris wheel. It wasn't as brilliant to see close up but Violet was amazed all over again when she learned the ride was operable. Tate put his man in the carriage and activated the ferris wheel. It was a slow ascent but in first-person mode, it was quite amazing to see. The ride paused at the top and all that could be heard was the wind and the sea. The soft glow of the ride's lights didn't hide the stars and bright moon overhead.

Tate set the controller aside and put an arm around Violet, who leaned against him. For a long moment they just enjoyed the view of the ocean.

When the ride started to move again, Tate spoke. His words were quiet. "After everything that happened... I didn't think you'd ever talk to me again."

She looked at him in puzzlement bordering on concern. They'd put the past to rest, she'd thought. "Tate—"

He turned his head a little so he could share his crooked smile with her. "I was thinking... I apologized to everybody I hurt except you." Immediately his mother registered in his mind but he instantly disregarded her. He hadn't apologized to her but that was because he still felt like most of the shit in his life and death was her fault, so he didn't intend to ever apologize. "I never..." He had to stop for a moment because a rush of stinging tears flooded his eyes and he didn't want to lose his shit just yet. "I never wanted you to be stuck here forever."

It was too late. Tears were leaking and he just let them. They rolled over his lips and off his chin and when he blinked, more spilled out. His nose ran. It wasn't even like crying. It was like his whole face was raining. Despite the unattractive mess, Violet put her other arm around him and pulled him closer.

"It's not your fault I'm here," she said softly. "It was an accident... and I did it."

He twisted and put both arms around her so he could press his damp face to her neck. He felt safe there where he could only smell and feel her. "But I liked having you here," he said. His words were muffled by her shoulder but the tears kept leaking. "I never had a best friend before. Or a girlfriend."

She hugged him and pet his messy hair with one hand. "I never really had a boyfriend before you."

He sniffled. "Why not?"

"I didn't really like boys." Violet had never said that out loud before and it sounded very weird. "I mean, I didn't like girls either. I think I hated them even more than boys."

He lifted his head then and wiped his nose with the hem of his t-shirt. It was one thing to cry on your girlfriend. Snotting on her was just wrong. "Why?"

Her lips twisted in a half smile. "All the ones I knew were bitches."

Tate gave a short laugh thickened by his tears. "Yeah. Me too." His smile faded then. "I love you, Violet. No matter what happens."

He looked so lost and forlorn in that moment, her heart ached. The cryptic nature of his words didn't stick; she just wanted to hold him. She reached for him and soon they were kissing. It was a sweetly urgent moment, filled with tear-damp kisses and needy touches. Onscreen, the ride had come to a stop but neither of them cared as they sank to the floor together.

Making love to the girl he loved was a waking dream each time. It felt like a small forever in heaven, with her leg wrapped over his side, their hips moving in concert. For Tate, the pleasure of the act was secondary to the feeling of being so intimately with and in her. Seeing the blissful, sweet look on her face; kissing her moaning lips; the way her nails bit into his back when she came: They were drugs to him.

She was so beautiful, he held off as long as he could just so he could watch her face longer. When he couldn't hold back any longer, he pressed closed, clinging to her through the throes of ecstasy. He stayed inside her long after, feeling her fingers play over his back as he hugged her, one cheek over her heart. He could hear it, beating strong and fierce.

He didn't understand why they were trapped in the house together. Life hadn't stopped when they all died; he knew that as sure as he could hear Violet's heart and feel her gentle hands petting him. Whatever held them here, the priest next door said it wouldn't last forever. Deep-down, Tate was scared he was right. What would happen then? Without the house to hold the people he loved, would they all go away?

The blond boy blinked fast to keep tears from leaking out. He didn't want to explain to Violet why he was crying and she would feel it instantly on her bare skin. While there were plenty of people in the house he'd happily shed, he didn't want to lose his family, even the ones that weren't related to him.

Though he meant what he said before, despite his apologies he was secretly glad the place had them all trapped. He knew he didn't deserve any of them and he was sure they wouldn't want to stay with him, if they had a choice. He needed some kind of reassurance that the people he wanted to keep close wouldn't leave him.

 **xxx**

* * *

Author's Note:

In 2020, Father Jeremiah has predicted that the ghosts of Murder House (all ghosts, in fact) will be freed from the areas they're forced to haunt. I can't help wondering what'll happen but I really shouldn't be writing another Season. I haven't even finished the Asylum AU. These characters just won't stop creeping into my thoughts with their issues and anxieties, though.

If you enjoyed this short, you'll probably like my AHS Season 1 AU, if you haven't read it already.


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